Portrait
by SherlockianWhovian
Summary: Sherlock walks in on Mycroft sitting for a portrait.


"What on earth are you doing?" Sherlock demanded with a frown as he strolled into Mycroft's home office.

John appeared in the doorway beside his flatmate and couldn't keep the smile off his face as he looked into the room.

"I am sitting for a portrait." Mycroft replied without looking over to them, sitting almost unnaturally still at his desk.

The room was quiet for a moment, the only noise being the painter's careful dabbing of paint onto the canvas.

"Why would anyone want a portrait of you?" Sherlock scoffed.

"Mr Tovey, would you give us a minute please?" Mycroft asked the painter politely.

"Of course, Mr Holmes." Mr Tovey replied and quickly left the room, closing the door behind him.

"I really wish that you would be more polite to me when we have company." Mycroft said to Sherlock, getting to his feet and stretching a little.

"A portrait? Really?" Sherlock sneered, sitting down in one of the armchairs nearby.

"Yes. Although I am but a minor government official, it has been decided that I should have a portrait done." Mycroft replied, "It is much more civilized than a _photo-shoot_."

"He's really captured your...um...outline?" John said, looking at the canvas on the easel.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and walked to the canvas, "A portrait is done over many sessions, John. The sketches and outline first, then the background before ending with the details." he explained, "Mr Tovey is currently working on the background."

"But if he's not actually painting you, why do you have to sit for the portrait?" John asked, glancing up at the elder Holmes brother.

"Because Mycroft can't resist being _involved_." Sherlock muttered.

"No, Sherlock. I am required to be here as a point of reference. The artist must be able to refer to the scene whilst painting to correctly get everything in proportion." Mycroft replied.

"Oh yes, it would be awful to reveal how large your head really is, brother dear." Sherlock smirked, enjoying teasing his brother.

"Did you come here for a reason or do you just enjoy tormenting me?" Mycroft asked with a raised eyebrow.

"You weren't answering your phone and neither was Anthea." Sherlock replied, "I had no option but to come here in person to check that you were still alive."

"Anthea is away on business and I am taking a rare afternoon off." Mycroft said, leaning on the edge of the large desk.

"Are you unwell?" Sherlock demanded in mock horror before he threw himself upright and shoved his mobile phone at Mycroft, "Is this one of your agents?"

Mycroft took the phone and looked down at the crime scene photograph, "Yes, it appears so." he replied, handing the phone back to his brother, "I will make some calls."

Sherlock eyed his brother and the canvas as he put his phone away, "It can wait until tomorrow." he said.

Mycroft's eyes briefly flashed with confusion before he nodded and sat back down at the desk, "Send Mr Tovey back in on your way out."

Sherlock stepped forward and carefully positioned a magnifying glass on its side amongst the ornaments on the desk. He then turned on his heel and swept out of the room with John hurrying after him.

* * *

"I would have put the globe on the other side of the desk." Sherlock's voice said from the darkness of the doorway, making Mycroft look up a little more suddenly than he would have liked.

The elder Holmes brother got to his feet and walked to the drinks cabinet, pouring two glasses of whiskey. He picked up the glasses and walked to where Sherlock was stood in front of the framed portrait over the desk.

"I am reasonably pleased with it." Mycroft admitted, looking at the objects on the desk in the painting, "I think that it sufficiently shows my dedication to Queen and country."

"Indeed." Sherlock replied, accepting the glass of whiskey from his brother, "Although it ages you."

"One must eventually accept that they are ageing more than they would like." Mycroft said, sipping his whiskey, "Have you considered sitting for a portrait, brother dear?"

"I have considered it, although I am in no hurry to spend hours sitting still." Sherlock chuckled softly.

"I found it rather enjoyable." Mycroft admitted, "It gives one time, space and quiet to think."

"Perhaps I will have one done then, I need to reorganize my mind palace soon." Sherlock replied almost absentmindedly.

Mycroft handed the artist's business card to his brother before he turned away and sat on the edge of the desk, "I find myself mellowing with age." he said quietly, carefully swilling the amber liquid in the crystal glass, "Perhaps it's time to set aside old scores?"

When no reply was forthcoming from Sherlock, Mycroft looked up to find Sherlock gone and the glass on the edge of the desk.


End file.
